Courting the Clown (13 page)

“I’m sorry,” she said, giggling like a teenager. “It’s just... Well, you look great. Really!”

“I know what I look like,” he rumbled. “I’m overweight and having the ultimate bad hair-and-beard day. Don’t rub it in. Santa knows all too well that he should cut down on cholesterol, but I guess Mrs. Clause keeps feeding him bacon and eggs for breakfast.”

She spent the drive biting her lip to keep from bursting into laughter each time she looked at him, and consequently had to reapply her lipstick in the parking lot. She made a serious attempt to stifle the last of her giggles as they rode up in the elevator together. It wouldn’t look cool for Santa Claus to arrive with a hysterical woman at his side.

“You know, you look a bit scary in that suit,” she admitted as she caught his glance in the mirror. “I mean, it’s hilarious because I know it’s you in there, but you’re so tall, and in this suit you’re just... well, huge. Little kids would probably be a bit frightened of you. A lot of the small ones seem scared of Santa. I’ve seen a lot of tears at your store.”

The Santa beard moved, and she guessed it meant Nick had smiled. Even his voice seemed different, deeper. “Yeah. When Emily was little, she was terrified of me in the Santa suit.”

“Emily? Seriously? Emily doesn’t seem to fear anything!”

“Not anymore, but back then she was terrified of Santa. Lana, on the other hand, always recognized me. She didn’t even have to think about it. She just held out her arms and yelled “daddy”. Which should have been a hint to Emily, but she didn’t catch on.”

The elevator stopped, and they stepped out into an empty corridor. Christmas music floated to them from behind closed doors. “They still believe in Santa, don’t they?”

“Emily does. Lana pretends to.”

“Does she?” Sylvie laughed. “My friend Helen did this too. She’s very pragmatic. While Santa still brought presents, she wasn’t about to let anyone know she didn’t believe in him.”

“Lana isn’t hiding it because of the presents. And I hate it. She’s only six – well, seven now. She’d supposed to believe in Santa Claus.” Nick rubbed his forehead with his knuckle. “Do you know why she pretends to believe in Santa, Sylvie?”

“I suspected for a long time, but I didn’t realize why she was still pretending. Then I heard her talking to the cat about it,” he said soundlessly. “What kind of a father am I? She won’t talks to me about what’s bothering her, but she talks to that cat!”

“She’ll come around, Nick,” she told him, feeling helpless. What did she know? “And you’re a wonderful father. You’re doing everything you can for you. She’s smiling more, isn’t she? And expressing interest in things. Like the clown. Right? She’ll be fine.”

“Sorry,” Nick’s beard moved, which probably indicated a smile. “Didn’t mean to dump this on you. And yes, she’ll be fine. I know she will.” He threw the burlap bag over his shoulder and headed for a door at the end of the hall. “Now, let’s get this show on the road.”

Against her expectations, Sylvie enjoyed herself at the party. Once Nick had gotten his Santa duties out of the way, and the Santa costume off, he was charming company, even while he dragged her from group to group, introducing her as he mingled with his staff.

She got a lot of curious looks, but she didn’t mind. Grandma Alex wouldn’t have minded. Grandma Alex would have smiled broader and stood up straighter, enjoyed the envy in the women’s gaze when they saw Nick smile at her. Sylvie dragged down everything she had from her Grandma Alex genes and was determined to enjoy the evening.

“Must have been rather hot inside that costume,” Sylvie said when they retreated to a corner with their drinks, and she’d been introduced to probably every person in the room. A couple of long white Santa-beard hairs clung to his shoulder, and she reached up to pick them off. She twisted her fingers, trying to get shake the tuft of hair off, but static electricity bound it to her skin. “Damn,” she said exasperated. “Static electricity is worse than superglue, isn’t it?”

“ I know something that works.” Nick grabbed her wrist, brought her hand to his mouth and blew hard. The warm current of air slithered across her skin. The Santa hairs drifted to the ground. And Sylvie stood there, mesmerized by the warm breath against her skin, the sudden fire in his eyes. Her skin tingled, first the spot he’d blew on, then the warmth spread all over.
Oh, my.

Nick broke the mood, grinned, kissed the back of her hand briefly and let it drop. He resumed conversation like nothing had happened.

And nothing had, had it?

“The worst thing is the damn itching, actually,” he said, and she blinked, finally working out he was talking about the false beard and wig. “Drives me crazy. But it’s tradition. I wear that stupid suit twice: one for my staff, and once for my children. All in all, it’s worth it.”

“Speaking of your children...” She laughed. “My cousins were sure you’d asked me here just to keep me on a short leash in case you think Lana needs me again.”

“Yeah. Helen and Susie. They’re my friends, but also my cousins. This comfort zone thing actually comes from our common grandmother. We call it the Grandma Alex pact.”

“Go on,” Nick prompted. “This sounds interesting.”

“Our grandmother died a year ago. She was the type of person who lived life to the fullest. My cousins and I felt rather inferiors in comparison. We have nice enough lives, but we stay firmly within our comfort zones. We’re missing out on all the excitement and risks that were such a big part of Grandma Alex’s life. We wanted to change that.”

“Maybe your Grandma’s comfort zone was just naturally that much bigger,” Nick pointed out. “Maybe it didn’t feel risky or frightening to her.”

“Maybe, but she worked on making it that way,” Sylvie argued. “She constantly wanted challenging herself. If she was afraid of something, she’d deliberately expose herself to that until she got over it. She was a great lady.” Sylvie sighed nostalgically. “We all miss her.”

“So that’s where it all began? In your grandmother’s memory you decided to jump in the deep end and entertain at a children’s birthday party?”

“ My friends decided that for me,” Sylvie corrected. “That was how it’s supposed to work. We need to be
pushed
out of our comfort zone. We won’t walk out of them voluntarily. That’s why it’s our comfort zone – because it’s a place we don’t want to leave.” She shrugged. “I thought getting into that clown suit and putting on the make-up was bad enough. Actually going to the party was worse still, but I thought I’d just be there, observing. But then Susie dumped me there and... you know the rest.”

“I already told you -- karaoke,” she grumbled. “I just know it. And they know the mere idea terrifies me. I can barely think of anything scarier. Other than a group of kids on a sugar-high, of course.”

“Hey, you’re in practice now. And anytime you need to rehearse, come to my house.”

“Yeah, right.”

Nick grabbed her empty glass and traded it for another one as a waiter passed with a tray. “You should find yourself a partner. Karaoke is easier as a duet. And much more fun.”

She peered at him. “And you would know this how?”

Nick grinned. “This may be hard to believe, but I was young and foolish once. My buddy Charles has a tape. He regularly threatens me with blackmail. He got to be Travolta. I had to be Sandy.”

Sylvie blinked. Then leaned against the wall, in dire danger of collapsing in adolescent giggles again. “No. You’re kidding me?”

“Nope. It really happened.” He leaned closer and sang a pertinent line into her ear, and even though his breath against her ear had all sorts of things happening to her insides, his falsetto meant there was no way for her to avoid the giggles anymore.

“ I have
got
to see that tape!” she hiccupped.

“Nah. It’s not bravery. Just ask my other. She’ll tell you it’s just that I never grew up. It’s a condition often confused with bravery. Of course, if you want to talk brave – throwing children’s birthday parties should qualify. The girls were on edge for days before the party, and it took days for them to settle down afterwards.”

“It’s an inconvenient time for a birthday,” she said. “Just before Christmas. For a kid in today’s world, I mean. I suppose Jesus was fine with it. Of course, they didn’t have Christmas Stress Disorder back then.”

Whoa. She was babbling seriously, wasn’t she? And she suddenly remembered she was talking to her boss and the thought sobered her up. She grimaced, and tried to hide behind her champagne glass, but it wasn’t quite big enough. This was an additional reason dating the boss was not a good idea. At this rate she’d be lucky if he entrusted her to shelve the finger paints.

“We take it pretty easy,” Nick said. “Not much Christmas stress in our house.” A teasing grin bloomed on her face, and she forgot he was her boss. “Maybe it’s because we don’t have a Mom in the house. Sometimes I suspect Christmas stress is women’s invention. What’s with wanting to clean every square inch of the house anyway?”

“ Well, it
is
Christmas...”

He shook his head. “My mother spent most of the weekend vacuuming the attic!”

“That may be taking things a bit far,” she conceded. “I’d wait with the attic – if I had one – until the spring. But a clean house is a part of Christmas, isn’t it?”

“ Why? It’s the darkest time of the year anyway. Nobody’s going to notice a little dust.” He shook his head decisively. “All we worry about in my household, is having a big enough tree, and enough presents for everybody. But then we don’t have a
woman
around to make us concentrate on dust and stains instead of Santa and pink wrapping paper.”

She snickered. “You’re hoping to get me all riled up, aren’t you?”

Nick nodded. “Is it working?”

“No. I don’t take it personally. You’re forgetting -- I live alone. No kids. No husband. No particular obsession with cleaning, and no-one to clean after except myself and Lazarus. I’m completely free of Christmas stress, except over whether to feed my cat tuna or shrimp for his Christmas meal.”

“Where will you be on Christmas day?”

She shrugged. “I haven’t decided yet. I might go home to Mom and Dad. My father has a milestone birthday coming up. Or I might stay with friends. And then I could get a freelance job, at a restaurant or something. It should be well paid this time of year.”

“You’d voluntarily work Christmas?” Nick sounded shocked.

“Wouldn’t you?”

“Well – I might, if I didn’t have my girls,” he admitted. “I guess I did, before they were born. And also after the divorce when the girls would stay with their mother over Christmas anyway. I preferred being at work, than at home without them.”

Divorce.

Sylvie digested that. “I didn’t know you were divorced,” she said off-hand. If he wanted to share, fine. If he didn’t, she wouldn’t push.

Even if curiosity was just about killing her.

“Yeah. We divorced two years before she died. Four years ago.”

“I’m sorry.” It seemed lame, but there was nothing else she could say. She wasn’t sure what she was commiserating over. Death or divorce? Probably both.

“It was a long time ago. Lana’s still having problems, of course, but Emily bounced back quickly. They’re so different. Such different personalities. But we’ll all be fine. In time.”

“I don’t plan on having any kids,” she said, and he looked startled. “A cat is quite enough responsibility for me. And a lot easier. And my parents don’t care much about how I raise him”

Nick grinned. “That is a big plus I have to admit. My mother can be a bit... difficult,” Nick confessed. “And around the girls she’s easier to handle when there aren’t many people around.”